The Redefinition of the Farm Boy
by Mongoosie
Summary: Following the events of SR, Clark Kent's life is in a state of upheaval after a five year hiatus. Could a month-long undercover assignment as a suave playboy millionaire be just the tonic he needs?
1. Chapter 1

I own NOTHING! Except my mind...what a rip off.

Be kind, rewind. And Review!

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Reflections in Primary

Looking over the city from the Daily Plant globe was a pastime which was a pleasure and an honor those five years ago. He would survey his adopted home, listening to the hum of activities several floors down. He would listen to the bustle that took weeks for him to get used to. He kept his ears perked up to potential petty crime and the larger scope of things. In an hour he was going to ascend far above the heavens to listen to the rest of the world, but for the moment he listened to what had once felt like his home. And now, five years later, he felt as fresh as he did when he first left Smallville.

And, all eloquence aside, it sucked.

The world's greatest superhero heaved a sigh and scowled. Five years were wasted. He had a life…well, Clark Kent had a life. Well, Clark Kent had something, what it was he really wasn't sure these days. He had an apartment, an OK apartment, which housed all of his things which were now on his mother's farm. He had a sandwich place, a grocery store, and a suit place that housed all things old fashioned and large enough to hide the Suit. His sandwich place became a laundry mat, his grocery store was now a trendy monstrosity, and his hideous suit place was replaced by a chain store. Oh, and he had no apartment in which to have these places surround him anyway. In a sick way he was glad that Lex lost his mind on a destructive scheme; that meant the housing market for downtown Metropolis will go down and he _may be _able to find an affordable apartment where he didn't spend his meager alone time zapping cockroaches and hearing neighbors screwing as close as next door.

Tomorrow he will go down to the classified section and see if they'd give him any tips on a new place. That's how he found an apartment he was going to move into before Zod and Co. came and sent the dream of a bigger place to the crapper. So long as he could get away from the excitement of puff pieces and obits. Why the hell did Perry hire him back if all he was going to do was talk about death and fluffy stuff? He could have hired an intern; interns are free and would have thought that obits and fluff were the single step into the short ladder of success. Maybe if he crossed his T's and dotted his I's like a good boy he could maybe get back into City and be able to get in on the action convincingly. He could only run to the bathroom but so much before people worried about his prostate. Maybe if he talked to Jimmy or Lois…

Lois…fuck …

Only Lois Lane could drive a good country boy like Clark to curse. Five years pass and that woman… she was as infuriating and captivating as she was in and before the height of Superman frenzy. Of course time put its stamp on her. She held herself in a more womanly way, not at all like the attack dog she was when he first met her. Motherhood fleshed out her hips and breasts in a generous way, though her figure was still slim and toned. She grew her hair out and it curled down in an alluring way and gave off glints of reddish lights amidst the brown. She even wore her glasses more now, that was something. Five years and Lois Lane grew up. Grew up, had a son, and was married to a guy who seemed smart and nicer than Clark expected. Man, he wish he could hate the man but to be fair he didn't know him and Lois was never a silly or stupid woman; she would have found a good one.

When his mind shifted to think of Jason and Richard he had to refrain from a jag of nervous laughter not in keeping with his Superman persona. He had a son; Clark Kent was a father. Superman was a baby's daddy. Though, as he made Lois forget who he was it wasn't exactly like she could really storm at The Man of Steal and ask for back child support. For a brief moment he could well imagine Lois on some sleazy show demanding a DNA test. This whole situation was too freaking tabloid. And to have his son, his blood, the second one like him have someone else to call daddy…Richard better be glad he's a good man. But he had a son. He went away for five damned years, left his love, his mother, his job, and even his ugly suit store to find himself and those like him and it was growing in Lois all along. Jason was a smart boy and Lois and Richard were doing a good job with him. He couldn't dare break that up, no matter how much he wished the kid would call Clark Kent Daddy and Lois would look at him as a the father of her child out of the Suit.

Or in the least like a man she'd see herself procreating with. If anyone would have been able to see the top of the Daily Planet globe they would've seen their savior repress a very human shudder. He was gone for five years and all Lois can think to ask him after the same old pleasantries was whether he could give up his stapler. His desk wasn't even properly set-up yet; she didn't even think to ask about it. Hell, Jimmy made him a cake! Granted, someone took a fair chunk of it…but still! Though, in all fairness, for the longest time Clark Kent wore hideous suits and thick glasses picked expressly for their look. No one cared to look twice at someone who looked in their twenties but dressed in their fifties. Now that his favorite crappy suit shop closed he was left with what he had before leaving and even that seemed too old fashioned. No, he had to get new clothes. He also had to get a new apartment and new places that will be as familiar as his grocery store and sandwich shop.

He had to be a new Clark.

That was a thought. He was Clark Kent, had been since his mother and father found him in the field. Clark Kent was a good boy, a decent son, and a dedicated employee...save frequent delinquency to save the world, of course. If someone were to ask him under hypnosis what his real name was it wouldn't be Kal-el, it sure as hell wouldn't be Superman, it would be Clark Joseph Kent. But he warped Clark Kent into some mockery of himself, if that made any sense. When he wasn't being careful growing up he was an athlete, a vivid reader, and a No one could possibly be as clumsy as he tried to fake being. He was born in the same decade as everyone else he knows well at work and at times he doesn't think things could be "swell". Hell, all the years he'd been around Metropolis and people like Lois he really needed to forgo the wide-eyed innocent act. Moreover, Superman was gone for five years and in theory Clark Kent was searching the world trying to find himself. It'd be quite simple to change his entire image so that he wouldn't be merely "good ol' Clark" and yet still hide who he was. It wasn't all about Lois; he was getting sick of it all. But if she could change and make assumptions that he hadn't then why not prove her wrong? As it were, he was getting tired of not even revealing himself in fear of THAT being discovered.

As he rose above the skyline and through the clouds he wondered vaguely about Lois and how she would possibly react to a new him.

Or, at least, a more _real_ him.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Thank you so much for the reviews! Things are coming along, hopefully at a good pace.

And I own NOTHING! Nothing, I say!

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Musings of a Super Mom

If you were to think about it, having Superman back was bad for business and sucked for everyone around...everyone who was unsavory anyway.The City beat was all about crime, grit, sexy run-ins with prostitutes, corruption at the government level; murder…everything they ever made an interesting TV show, book, news article, or movie about. Before Superman, Metropolis was a place ripe with sensational stories that made the Daily Plant's City section the best on the East Coast. When Superman came to the planet in his full glory it seemed like things stopped for a week. Surely a guy in tights was a fluke? Maybe it was some mass hallucination that saved a reporter from that helicopter. After a week to get used to the idea it took another week for the criminal elements to adjust and behave somewhat normally. After all, he may have so many things going for him but it wasn't like he could be everywhere at once. And as they adjusted the City section adjusted, detailing more subversive crimes and touting the awesome saves Superman made based on their paper-selling ability as shrewdly calculated by Perry.

When Superman left at first it was like crime stopped again for a week. No one knew where he went or why. Maybe the man just needed a vacation, hell; everyone needs a break. However, when one week became two and a Superman-solvable natural disaster killed two hundred people and destroyed a national landmark it was like the city, and indeed the world, lost their fucking minds. Crime shot up to a record high. It seemed like it was celebration day for criminals around the world. Even the planet went insane and global warming went right up there with triple homicides as an attention getter. It was a dog eat dog world again for that half a decade and the City section of the Daily Planet was in its element with its star reporter whipping them into a frenzy with one arm holding her fragile son and the other shaking a fist at any SOB who stood in her way. And now the Man of Steel was back and while City was grateful for his return they were all more or less sour that there will be a significant drop in their action.

It was two weeks after the run-in with Lex and Superman's fall from the sky. So far, crime was more or less still at a stand-still around Metropolis. It was like criminals everywhere were going on hiatus just to see how that five year trip and horrific fall affected the Man of Steel. It would almost be sweet of them if it wasn't completely fucking with Lois Lane's rhythm. Lois found herself sitting at her desk, typing up a story about the aftermath of New Krypton like she did last week, only this time covering the small amount of crime that took place soon after and how Superman's return will affect future crime statistics. This story was going to be the same informative ones she normally gives, but she knew well enough that there could be much better. She looked around, taking in the heavy flow of people busy at their stories or running to find new ones. She peered at Richard's office and noticed him talking to a few reporters in his International section. She glanced towards Jimmy Olsen's desk and found him fiddling with his cameras in an animated discussion with Clark Kent. She snorted; it probably had to do with mother issues. Or maybe there was an ugly tie convention Lois was unaware of. Hell, it could be lady issues of a different sort, but that just made Lois giggle.

She frowned. Where was Jason? Ah, there he was. Jason was sitting at Clark's desk working on something for his art class. It was a half day and Richard brought him here instead of trying to find a babysitter. Perry objected, but then the kid already had him wrapped around his finger with his large dark blue eyes and youthful frankness. There was a time when she would've sneered at any woman who doted so much over their children, but so help her she became one of them. She smiled as her child seemed to know he was being looked at and waved back at her but then frowned in consternation once he went back to his artwork. Jason had HIS eyes, HIS unnaturally pure blue eyes. Were Lois to look any closer at him she'd also notice HIS mouth and HIS nose and even HIS jaw-line. Hell, if not for the lighter hair she'd think she had had HIS clone. She must have been in a shitload of denial not to notice these things before. Still, she didn't know it was his, no way could she have known. One minute Superman was flying away from her and the next she was on her fifth tequila shot and her legs were wrapped around an unsuspecting future co-worker at a bar. When the boobs got bigger and the stick turned blue it was the most natural thing in the world to assume that she was a victim of an earthly booty-call, not a galactic one.

She groaned. She had Superman's baby. Jason White was really Jason…fuck. She had a baby with someone whose last name she didn't know. She fornicated with someone whose idea of work was going into burning buildings without protection and stopping bullets with his chest. She barely remembered even doing anything related to making babies with the man. She was pretty sure the equipment was the same; it wasn't like she could get pregnant from an extra firm handshake. The idea of it disturbed her to her very core. At least she felt certain that it was consensual; no way would the symbol of Truth, Justice, and the American way go around having his way with any adoring woman. She could read the trashy tabloid headlines now: _Super-man…in EVERY WAY_ She snorted, causing one of the nearby sports reporters to give her a suspicious look. Jason was Superman's son. Jason was part alien. Jason pushed a piano towards someone and killed him. He was also able to find Superman, his FATHER when neither she nor Richard could. What else was he going to do? Was she going to be dealing with a flying emotional teenager with super-speed and X-ray vision? And lying to him about the motherly things like the benefits of beets and a clean room is going to be hard once he can hear everything…if he can't already. Oh, God…what was puberty going to be like?

Before she could scare herself more thinking about her super-powered little boy Jimmy bounded up to her, his wide-eyed grin firmly in place and with Clark in tow. For a moment she realized how very little she spoke to the man who used to be her partner. Hell, the only meaningful conversation was when she vented to him about Superman and that was two weeks ago. She still didn't know if he found a place yet or even asked about his trip around the world. As it stood, it wasn't like he was pushing off friendly people with a stick around here so who else was there for him to talk to but her and Jimmy? Leave it to the savior of Mankind to turn her into a bitch. "What's with the matching grins?" she asked.

"We're sneaking out," Jimmy whispered.

At her raised eyebrow Clark shrugged. "Classifieds gave me a few listings of places around here that are losing people to less…interesting places," Clark shrugged. "I figured I'd take a photographer along, write up something about property values since the quake."

Interesting was right. Another shitty thing about Superman's return (apart from the emotional turmoil and lowered crime statistics) was the fact that with having a resident superhero there would always be some megalomaniacal bastard trying to best him. And no, said bastard wouldn't go off to a nice isolated field to try to take over the world. He or she would start by using downtown Metropolis as their playing field. Thus, any candy-assed city person with even a whiff of money was ready to move to the suburbs as soon as a building shook from an epic battle. As it were it had taken her to sell her condo and that shit with Zod had happened ten months prior. She would have stayed a city person and damned proud of it if it wasn't for her frail son and the comforts of her seaside home. Still, boring as apartment hunting may seem that almost sounded sneaky. Clark Kent was never sneaky. Lois was intrigued; she was also sick of thinking about Superman, almost finished with her story, and Jason looked like he was about to sleep at Clark's desk. Besides, even if Clark became sneaky after five years away he still wasn't street smart enough to deal with real estate sharks. "Want company?" she asked. "We could probably make this a real story and even take Jason along."

She was mildly surprised when Clark merely shrugged and Jimmy nodded. "We'll meet you in the lobby," Jimmy said.

Lois closed down her computer, spoke with Richard, and make sure she had Jason's emergency inhaler and medication before she met Clark and Jimmy down in the lobby. They gave a cab driver an embarrassing amount of money to stick with them for a day and went through ten apartment complexes, talking to tenants who stuck around in spite of the damages and the landlord's views on repair and ensuring the safety of their complexes. Surprisingly, Clark asked most of the questions and Lois was stunned at how well he could manipulate his questions to coax a story. She kept an eye out on Jason as he ran around several apartments and Jimmy took pictures of unsound floors, exposed electrical wiring, and cracked ceilings. By the time they considered themselves over Clark applied for a decent one bedroom in an OK apartment complex five blocks from work, three complexes were worth writing scathing exposés about how they didn't follow building codes to withstand tremors, and all three guys were moaning in hunger. She took them to a vegetarian restaurant she knew near work which would serve things Jason wasn't allergic to and refrained from smirking at Clark and Jimmy for bemoaning the lack of meat.

On their way back through Planet doors Lois spotted Richard leaving for the day, a tired smile telling her that things were stressful but well for his section. Maybe after they drink some wine and discuss their respective days she can give him a neck massage while they shared a bath. Maybe an evening of gentleness and physical care could center her on the now and not on alien fathers and low crime stats. He was such a good man as well as a loving partner and a fantastic father. He was also tall, well-built, had blue eyes, served his country as a war correspondent, loved to fly, and had a good boy charm that would melt any woman's heart. Lois sure as hell didn't need a shrink to see why she was attracted to this man. Hell, were she honest with herself, there were times late at night when she wished he'd buy a red and blue caped costume and play some kinky games with her. Immediately she shook her head to get out of that dirty place and ignored the questioning look Jimmy gave her. Still, Lois mused as Jason ran into his father's arms, was she in the right for staying with a man who basically was a human Superman? She wasn't sure how much she loved Richard, but pining over a demigod was going to get her nowhere. She was startled by a warm hand on her shoulder and peered up into Clark's face. "Thanks for your help," he smiled.

"Writing it up?"

"Have nothing better to do,"

All he needed was a damned violin. She didn't even ask where he had been staying all that time before he found a place. Hell, he probably hadn't had a home cook meal since he left Kansas. "Why don't you come on over for dinner, Clark," Lois frowned. "Richard cooks a mean vegan tomato-less chili…"

Lois stifled a laugh at the way Clark's nose wrinkled in disgust. He almost reminded her of Jason when she had to put drops in his ears. "I'll live," Clark said. "Besides, it'd be overtime and that's a security deposit."

She nodded, glad that the one good thing about Richard was a double income and stability. "Don't work yourself too hard, Clark," she smiled.

"I'll try my damndest not to, Ms. Lane," he smirked.

Was that a little bit of sarcasm? Lois allowed her eyes to follow Clark into the building. He was once such a good friend. Shit like a more boring job, men in tights, and alien love children would be so much easier with a friend to have an open discussion with. She really needed to catch up with him, see how he was settling back in. Sure she asked a few questions, but it seemed like he picked a crap time to come back. Damn, now her mind was back on Superman. At least he had been good at just seeing Jason while he slept and not engaging her in knee-shaking conversation. Shaking her head, she smiled at Jason and Richard as they hailed a cab and followed behind them, willing her mind not to wander towards a man in primary colors.


	3. Chapter 3

Thank you so much for the reviews! I'm not sure I'm happy with this one, any suggestions would be highly appreciated.

I only own my sanity. That never made me rich so...

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A GREAT Story

It's been three months since Superman returned and the Daily Planet was humming with activity. Life always goes on and it sure seemed like that five year period never happened. Superman was doing his thing with gusto, repair efforts were going very nicely, and what traces of New Krypton left in the ocean were demolished by some company so that they'd never hurt Superman. From his perch, editor-in-chief Perry White surveyed his crew with a predatory gleam. Were he thirty years younger he'd be vibrating in his joy. He had a story, and it could be a good one. Of course, it'd be a damn fine one with a damn fine journalist to investigate it. It just sucked that he couldn't really use his damn fine one.

Two years ago the paid monkeys down at public relations wanted to give the paper a friendlier, less hard-hitting image. So, begrudgingly, he had a series of articles entitled "Know Your Planet" in which they highlighted every contributor to the paper. It was the corniest thing Perry had ever allowed on his internationally renowned paper. As it were, Perry had to drag away the cardboard cut-out of him grinning like a jack-ass because the sports and entertainment reporters took to playing "pin the tail on the Chief" with scotch as their fuel. The candy-assed articles went down the line alphabetically. It just so happened that the Ls coincided with Lois's Pulitzer award winning article. So of course not only had she pissed off some die-hard Superman fans, inspired the hopeless, and fueled the crazies but they also had her cheeky grin to go along with it. She more or less became more famous than her by-line. Richard had to hire protection for at least three months and their vehicles had to be cleaned of the various debris people flung at it for how much she dragged America's Hero through the coals. Of course it was great for the paper, the ad guys were practically Lois's slaves for at least a year after. But the last thing Perry needed for this story was a famous face. He needed someone that could blend.

But who in this pock-marked den could pull off what he needed? He hated to say it but some many of his crew had the face for print. And quite a few were either too young or too old. Gil was way too fat and sloppy. The guys in the sports section were alright looking, sure. But they were sports writers; sports writers were all about adjectives and he needed an actual story. There was Bernard Jenkins, the entertainment reporter. He could write a lively story, but he was also known as the Midtown Queen-Bitch in the bathroom for a reason. There was Trent Lewis; he was a part of Richard's international section and was on assignment in Korea when the Know Your Planet shit happened. But Trent was a fucking asshole; he only kept him around because he knew two Chinese dialects, Korean, and Japanese. Fucking linguists; he needed to find another quad-lingual person before he loses his mind.

With a scowl he continued to survey his group. He looked for Lois and found her sitting on Clark Kent's desk gesturing with a coffee mug at something she thought was funny. They had gotten chummier in the past few months; Richard even told him about the guy coming over for dinner once or twice. Hopefully this was a sign that they should work together again. Clark, for his part, looked bemused more by her rendition of whatever tale she was telling than the story himself. Perry smiled. He had stuck Kent on obits and fluff since he got back just to make sure he wanted to work for the paper and clearly he did; had he had Lois doing obits the doctors would still be searching for his balls. At least the Superman frenzy died down some. Crime in and around Metropolis went back to Superman norms and Lois bitched less and less about the Man of Steel. Maybe after another week he could get Kent to work on bigger stories. He missed having Lane and Kent on the by-line. Sure, Lane sold papers. But Lane and Kent got him good, consistent, _grammatically correct_ stories…

Clark was gone during that Know Your Planet crap.

And he was tall, polite, and he knew a few females who thought he was the cutest thing in the world if he was to believe his old secretary. He was also blissfully gone from the front page by-lines for a long enough time for even die-hard fans to forget him. But could he pull this kind of story off? After all, this was Clark Kent. This was the bumbling, stuttering, moony-eyed Clark Kent who came straight from a farm in the middle of fuck-knows-where. Yet the man just traveled the world, and his education was impeccable. Hell, if he spoke a word of mandarin he'd fire Trent and move Kent to International, where he knew he'd do well. He also looked like the kind of guy who took care of himself or played a sport. Still, this was fucking Clark Kent. He was going to look elsewhere, but then he noticed something.

There was a full cup of coffee on Clark's desk. It was also ten o' clock so it had to be the second cup. The first cup of coffee was always safe; it went down his throat within an hour of arrival with an insane amount of cream and sugar. The second cup, however, caused a mixture of fear and amusement within the bullpen. Normally that coffee would be anywhere at this time of the day. It'd be all over the desk. It'd be on his jacket or his clothes and he'd have to run off. Poor Bernice in Health still had a dark spot on her neck where Clark's coffee flew across the circle of desks near the monitors and landed on her blouse. Never had that second cup been drunk in its entirety. Bets were won and lost on that cup of coffee. Scores of outfits were destroyed. Kent's desk was the first desk to be replaced in the design overhaul a year after he left because it was warped by so many split coffees. And still, that cup was always wasted for the drinker.

Until today, that is.

As Lois finished up her allegedly funny story Clark sipped his coffee and tilted up in that way that said that he finished it. Even Lois took a moment to gape at this feat. If it didn't take a long phone call and some screaming Perry would've stopped the presses so a blurb could be written. "Great Caesar's ghost," Perry breathed. Maybe he could use Clark Kent. He called and made arrangements with accounting, making sure he could do what was needed. Upon receiving an OK, he felt giddier than a porn star. Steeling his resolve, he opened the door to his office. "Kent, Lane, get in here!"

He watched as Lois ran over to her desk and Clark grabbed his pen and paper. They ran into his office and took their stances; Lois standing with her arms crossed by the door and Clark sitting across from the desk with paper and a pen readied. Perry walked around Lois and sat down at his desk. He looked at Clark and sighed. Maybe if he took off the glasses and got a new set of suits, but that's easier than the personality transplant Trent needed. "I have a story for you," he said.

"Thank God, Chief," Lois drawled. "If I have to cover one more recovery piece after New Krypton I'd set some shit off just to have something to write about."

Perry gave Lois a scowl to which she shrugged, her eyes telling him that she had her ways. "Anyway, I have a story," he repeated.

"What is it, sir?" Clark asked with pen and paper ready. Vaguely, Perry was reminded of an apple pushing punk he and his friends used to beat up in grade school before they grew consciences. "Have either of you heard of the so-called Sandy Shore Millionaires Club?"

Lois's face was blank. If there wasn't some sort of mayhem she usually was never interested. Clark, however, frowned and then nodded. "A group of the super-wealthy who get together every ten months to brag about what businesses they took over and how many little people they crush," he said.

"Correct,"

"Rich people getting together to measure their girth," Lois shrugged. "Get the Queen Bitch to cover it or someone from the business section. Why are we in here?"

"Ever heard of a millionaire named Sergei Alexander?"

Both reporters shook their heads. "Sergei Alexander apparently comes out from some shit country with a speck of oil, or diamonds, or something. Been tossing around money for two months and got invited to this shindig. However, a source of mine has revealed that his funds may have been laundered, brought into his native land, and filtered out in his endeavors in a deviant way."

Lois perked up only slightly. Clark gave nothing away and stayed his interested, but neutral, state. "A crooked rich guy?" she said. "Ooo...shocker."

"A crooked rich guy who, according to my source, seems to want to use this retreat to fund the research of a Dr. George Dietrich," Perry nodded.

Lois started drooling. Clark frowned. "Dr. George Dietrich?" he repeated.

"George Dietrich is a researcher whose family was killed when that dam exploded so many years ago," Lois sighed. "He's been hell-bent on researching kryptonite for less than savory gains. Of course, no one wants to fuck around with the shit that could kill Superman; no respectable charity wanted to touch him. But, it's been rumored that Lex Luthor had started funding him until he was arrested…"

Perry noticed that Clark's jaw clenched a little and for a second he wondered what his eyes were doing behind those thick glasses. "And you think that Sergei Alexander is either a newcomer or Lex himself?" he gritted.

He had never heard that tone from Clark before. It looked like if the mild-mannered reporter could he'd get up, stalk off, find both Luthor and Dietrich and kill them viciously with a paper clip. For a second he wondered if he could do it. But either it was Lois clearing her throat or Clark noticing the attention he got for not a second later Clark blinked and dropped his pen. "So what do you need from us, Chief?" Lois asked as Clark did an awkward chair dance to retrieve his pen.

Perry looked away from Clark and turned to Lois. He could see the madness ooze from her in hopes of a great story. Clark just settled back to neutral curiosity once he got his pen. "I'm sending Clark on this retreat as a fictitious millionaire to gather what information he can on Alexander and his plans with Dietrich," he stated. "Lois, you need to provide secondary support."

A nuclear bomb could've gone off in Chinatown not five blocks away and Lois would still have that shocked to shit look on her face. Clark, on his part, raised an eyebrow. That was odd; Perry expected a stammering fit of protest. "Clark, Chief?" Lois whispered.

"Yes,"

"Why him?"

"Excuse me?" the man in question said.

Lois raised a hand to silence Clark and waited for Perry to explain himself. Perry gave Clark a brief sympathetic look and looked at Lois. "Remember that 'Know Your Planet' bullshit?" he asked.

She nodded. "You've become too famous to be in front of the story," Perry said.

"The fuck, Chief…"

"I'm not sure how long you're going to have to be on this story, but Clark here wasn't there for that publicity campaign. Plus he hasn't been a big by-line in half a decade. I think he'd be the best person for the job."

"That does make sense," Clark said.

Lois glared at Clark. She sat there for a while and both men looked at her expectantly. "Fine, I'll be support," she snarled.

"Good," Perry grinned. "Clark, call and then go to accounting. They'll get you a credit card for new clothes and the like. I don't want to see your face for at least two weeks. Use that time wisely."

"Got it," Clark said.

He unfolded himself from the chair, nodded to Lois, and left the office. "This is a crock of shit," Lois hissed as the door started closing.

"It's the peril of being a good reporter, Lois," he said. "You're too recognizable. And, I hate to say it, you don't have the equipment."

Lois growled and started pacing. "But this is Clark 'Smallville' Kent, Chief," she said. Then she sighed and flapped her hands in the air. "Don't get me wrong, Chief," she said in a quieter tone, "I get why I'm not doing the story. But it's Clark, Chief. I mean he's my friend and a nice guy; I'm glad he's getting a good story. But I have to be honest; when he isn't spouting off some obscure fact about bugs the man reeks of country bumpkin. Have you seen what he's wearing?"

Perry had, but decided to ignore the shit-brown color. "Lois..."

"He's probably going to waste that card on another set of crap suits. Why didn't you try that guy from International or business or someone?"

"I think Clark will make this work. You forget how dedicated he can be," Perry sighed. "Besides, that guy from International is an asshole."

Lois heaved a sighed and flailed her arms in exaggerated defeat. "Fine, I'll be support," she groaned.

"Good, now find a list of people who are going and dig up stuff on them," Perry said. "Lord knows Kent's going to need all the help he can get."

Lois nodded and stomped out of the office. As she did, Perry couldn't help but notice Clark giving her the stink eye as she passed by, even though he was on the phone. It was almost as if he heard some of what she said. But that was ridiculous; the door was closed. Still, as Perry watched Kent pursed his lips in annoyance as he hung up the phone. He glanced at Lois, who went to her desk and started to pound her computer keys like the operating system wronged her. He looked back at Clark who hung up and got his coat. Their eyes met and for a moment Perry was intrigued by the annoyance and long suffering he found there. But the moment passed and Clark got up to run to accounting. He watched Lois give the man a stink eye as he passed by before she continued working. "This better not bite me in the ass," Perry muttered.


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: Hello all! Thank you for the reviews! They are really helpful! One thing I can say regarding language, in particular between Perry and Lois, is that in the realm of conversation in the workplace is that were Lois and Perry weren't by Jimmy, Richard, or Clark the tone would be more professional, more respectful of boundaries. However, Lois Lane is the ballsy ace reporter who brings in the big stories that elevated the DP at the peak of the biggest story of the planet (Superman) and is possibly the daughter Perry wished he had. I will do what I can to tone down the cursing between them.

Honestly, I could be happier with this chapter. I'd say this is before a Justice League but right around the time that Superman would be familiar with the superheroes around him. So review away! Any suggestions you give would be highly welcomed.

I OWN NOTHING!

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Hell and the English Butler

One of many things that irked Clark about being Superman (besides the tights that hide nothing, the severe cramp on his social life, the whole competing with _himself_ for a woman's affections, etc.) was that he could never present himself as someone who could have a definitive opinion about anything. Sure, the papers touted him as a symbol for truth, justice, and all that (they wanted to use 'American way' but he had Lois point out that as he saved any and everybody that jingoism wouldn't do). And he did his part by volunteering his time and image to aid organizations, scientific research groups, and their like. However, when people normally asked him questions it was mostly about the disaster he was clearing or just for the sake of a decent sound bite to inspire the masses. But no one asked Superman what he thought of the constant state of warfare that has transpired since the end of the Cold War, or what he thought of the rise in racial conflicts due to the restructuring of nation-states, or what he thought the heightened influx of technological advances in the past decade would do to increase the disparity between the rich and poor. If he didn't know any better he'd think that the world saw him as one big jock; no wonder Lex Luthor constantly belittled his intelligence. Hell, even Lois Lane glossed over some of the heavier questions and not only is she the love of his life but a damn good reporter. It was highly annoying.

Then again, _Clark Kent_ had the education. _Superman_ was just some alien savior.

Clark Kent was the salutatorian in high school, Clark Kent graduated in the top five percent in an Ivy League school with a double major in history and journalism. Clark Kent, were he not afraid of too much exposure, could attempt to answer any hard question thrown his way. Superman couldn't have all that because, quite simply, he wasn't supposed to have been on this planet for very long. In hindsight, maybe that was a good thing. If your purpose in life was to fly around saving the world surely you'd have very little time to ponder life's more important questions. Still, as Clark Kent found himself not saving the world, but lounging around an immense pool with headphones on listening to phonetic tapes brought to him by a pushy English manservant, he couldn't help but think about things that he normally didn't have the time to think about. Like the nature of Hell and how much he hated to be underestimated.

Clark was raised in America's heartland. He had two loving parents who did things the way they have always been done, with only a few modern touches. On the weekdays they woke up early, tended to the animals and the fields, fixed what needed to be fixed, and ate large warm meals. On Sundays, however, they had slept in. They would eat a smaller breakfast, usually just pancakes with bacon and juice. Clark and his dad would get into the suits Martha had lovingly laid out for them. She would dress in a simple dress with a pretty hat. They would forgo their most recent truck in favor of the old truck they found Clark in and drive it through town and to the Methodist church. There, the good trio would listen to the teachings of their pastor with a careful ear and when they bowed their heads they thanked God for the miracle of each other and the goodness of the land that provided them comfort.

As Clark grew up his views on the Sunday ritual changed, as they did for every person. Between three and ten he was bored and naively disillusioned. He was in a cumbersome suit, the sun was just too bright and wonderful to be stuck inside, and the pastor droned on. With the first blush of puberty, he started paying more attention to the sermons and started to question things. He'd read the Bible at warp speed and would stop the pastor after church to ask questions about how he interpreted the passages. He was seduced by the power behind the pastor and how the lessons in the Bible applied to everyday life. By the time he was fifteen and graduated from Sunday school many thought he'd become a pastor himself. When his father died while he was still in high school the church showed their support through casseroles and prayer. But that moment was the start of Clark's true disillusionment. How could God be all seeing and all knowing and let such a good man like Jonathan Kent die? Nothing he read made anything feel better and his mother's sobs reinforced that feeling. He still went to church with his mother, but instead of feeling intrigued by the work of faith he felt bitter and even annoyed. For a moment ego took over and he went ahead and declared God dead.

College and its eccentricities didn't help him lose his nascent atheism, but it was traveling the world and later becoming Superman that made him reconsider his views on faith and humanity. As Superman he was not only a savior but a witness to all forms of human suffering. He was there when people lost their homes in the disasters he attempted to control. He was there for the widows and orphans new to their station in life due to him not being able to be everywhere. He heard the cries of the hungry, the sick, the bitter, and the despairing that he could do very little for beyond donate to a local relief charity. He could see the faces of all the people that died because he just couldn't get there in time and everyday the burden of those who died in the earthquake instead of Lois all those years ago made him ill. Though many would see it as an ego issue, he started to think that maybe whatever force was out there in the universe had the same problems he had. In spite of everything he did, in spite of every sacrifice he made, he couldn't save everybody from their circumstances. From the time he saved a reporter from a helicopter to when he left to find out about his people Clark Kent became an avid agnostic and thanked God for being able to do whatever he could.

Still, years of homeland church training still colored his thoughts when it came to things such as goodness and evil. Granted, he knew that even the best people had darkness in them; he sure as hell did. Moreover, he knew that as the world was gray he could not single out anyone to spend their end in Paradise and he found that it was often those who concerned themselves over that instead of helping their fellow man in the here and now were the ones who messed up and committed horrible acts. Still, he certainly believed that there should be a special for Lex Luthor and those who did not mind killing millions of people for their selfish needs. Whether or not it was the hell with the pitchforks and fire was the question. In his early atheist days he came up with the theory that there was no hell and hell was just made up because there just HAD to be a place for the people who wronged others. As he became more aware of the global condition he nearly gave into that idea. There were places filled with so much despair that surely there couldn't be anything worse. When Zod and his associates were defeated and sent back to the prison they came from a part of Clark wondered if that place was akin to the hell he was taught to fear. Certainly it fit the profile; years of torment and no freedom for redemption. It was only after he flew to Gotham seeking the help of an associate that he began to reconsider his old theory. Maybe there was a hell and it was of his own making. Overall, hell was having a son not know him as his father and a woman not attracted to the whole of him. Currently, hell was Wayne Manor and the devil was a pushy butler named Alfred.

When Clark got the assignment he knew that this was a very good (and work-funded) opportunity to start on redefining his persona. Lois offered to help, but frankly it would be like asking his mother and her disparaging words still vibrated through his head. It was quite insulting to hear her doubt him like that and to voice those doubts so stringently to his boss...all she needed to do was rubber band him like a bull; it'd hurt less. Still, he knew that he needed to do something and he needed to do more than find another tailor. He allowed himself two days of indecision until he thought of who he knew that was ridiculously rich through no real effort of his own and therefore could help him. It was then that he saw an old article about Bruce Wayne shaking up Wayne Enterprises. He knew Bruce Wayne in both personas, though in all honesty he knew him better as the Dark Knight and rarely talked to him out of his cowl. Still, Bruce Wayne oozed idle rich and was about the same age as he was so any pointers he got would be current. Plus, frankly it didn't seem like the man did very much during the day. Indeed, when Superman sped to Gotham after making up his mind to go there he found Bruce wearing just a bathrobe in his immense backyard with his butler Alfred playing checkers with a decanter of scotch. "There is a front door," the billionaire smirked as Superman changed to Clark Kent behind him.

"Yes, well, how often is Superman supposed to visit Wayne Manor?" Clark shrugged. "And you know I have no car."

Bruce tilted his head and kicked out a chair. "Touché," he sighed as Alfred won the game. "What do you want?"he asked as they set reset the board.

"Oh, I can't visit and see how my friend is doing?"

"Is this about that millionaires retreat thing?"

"How…"

"How do you think your editor-in-chief got that tip? I'm busting my ass here but some things in Gotham still can't be trusted. If I took my suspicions of this little event to the Gotham Gazette who knows how fast this Sergei guy would have been alerted. We don't have reporters like Lois Lane and Clark Kent here; we have snitches. So all I had to do was drop a phone and you were tapped. I got my invite months ago."

"Well why aren't you going?"

Bruce gave Clark his most withering look and poured himself a scotch. He offered a glass to Clark, who took it gladly. "There are several gangs that have started to mobilize," he sighed. "Unlike you I cannot be in two places at once, I need to be here. You, last I checked, can crack the sound barrier. Surely you can juggle this and your extra-curricula."

"Great, in by default,"

"If it's Lex Luthor…"

Clark held his hand up and took a contemplative sip of his scotch. While he'd need an oil tanker of this to even feel buzzed it certainly was a good scotch. Plus, as alien as he was the idea of Lex Luthor was enough to make him take a drink, duty to the world or no. "I know, I know," he said. "So I'm going to pose as some millionaire-type and get in good with this Sergei Alexander…"

The billionaire gave the reporter a considering look. "Really?" he said. "I'd thought it'd be Lois."

"Don't get me started on that,"

He relayed Lois piercing pessimism over his ability to pull off the story and her degrading attempts to help him. He also, in a babbling fit well-suited to Clark Kent, told him of his state of transition and how he wanted to reshape his base personality to something more honest. Bruce, for his part, kept his face well-schooled until the end when he let out a small chuckle. Even Alfred gave the Man of Steel a pitying look. "So you flew here to escape her and get help doing…what?"

"I need to become like you,"

"Batman,"

"No, Bruce Wayne; a ridiculously wealthy man of the world,"

Bruce let out a short laugh and looked the reporter over before laughing a little louder. "And I'm supposed to do this in two weeks?"

"You certainly aren't doing anything," Clark shrugged.

"Believe it or not, Clark, I have stuff to do in the daytime too."

"It's Wednesday and you're drinking scotch in a bathrobe,"

Bruce shrugged and played with his expensive glass. "Because Monday and yesterday I was out all day with Lucius Fox discussing ways to clean up Wayne Enterprises. Needless to say that there are still so many areas of my family business that disgust me and those were twelve hour meetings placed on top of my nighttime activities," he said. "And this afternoon I am meeting with a group of Dutch bankers who I'm trying to get involved with a charity _I _am spearheading that will hand out more AIDS vaccines in third world countries than is being done by government-funded INGOs. The head guy at the bank likes to play checkers of all things and I haven't played that in two decades so Alfred is trying to teach me."

"And doing an abysmal job, Master Wayne," Alfred piped up.

"And the rest of this week involves socializing with some of the rich people around Gotham," Bruce continued. "You have no idea how exhausting that is. And that doesn't including how tired I am going to be from staking out gang activity until at least four every morning."

Clark heaved a sigh. "Shame I don't know more idle rich men who aren't trying to save their city," he drawled.

"Sorry I try to make a difference, I'll do better next time,"

"What can you do? Though I guess I need to start shopping…"

Bruce considered his, for want of a better adjective, friend as the Man of Steel sulked in his Louis XIV-styled patio furniture. Then he looked at Alfred, who shrugged back. Even though Clark was allowing himself a moment to pout he could see the wheels turning in Bruce's head. "Look," he said, "I want this Sergei guy found out as much as you do. Alfred can help."

Clark blinked and Alfred frowned slightly. "No, that's alright…"

"Alfred raised me to be who I am today," Bruce smiled. "If it weren't for him telling me how much I needed a social life I wouldn't be the lazy rich guy you think I am. Besides, I am only one other person in a very large house and I am certain we can entertain a guest for a week and a half. It could be beneficial to the both of you."

Clark considered Alfred, who seemed slightly amused at the idea. "Alright,"

"Certainly, Master Wayne," Alfred bowed.

"Excellent," Bruce grinned. He stood up, causing Clark and Alfred to stand as well. "Now, I'm going to get ready to meet these bankers. Alfred can show you around."

Clark watched the billionaire walk away and then turned to the English butler, who was critiquing him with his rheumy eyes. After ten minutes Clark cleared his throat and the manservant snapped out of his visual survey. "I do suggest we go shopping now, Master Kent, before the roadways get crowded," he said.

"You can call me Clark, Alfred,"

"Or I can call you Master Kent, Master Kent. A man in your station should not expect familiarity from a servant he just met,"

"Just met? But…"

"Come, Master Kent,"

And so, Clark Kent, started his stay in hell. That day Alfred walked him to the immense car garage wherein he spoke of the virtues of European vintage cars and had Clark drive Bruce's two million-dollar custom Aston Martin around to get the feel of the sumptuous car as they zipped through the city to Bruce's tailor. There, Clark was poked, prodded, talked over, and inspected like a piece of Kobe beef. Clark had nightmares over that happening to him upon exposure as an alien, but somehow having a sixty year old man lovingly measure his inseam while another older gentleman asked if he wore boxers or briefs felt worse than the thought of kryptonite-scalpels and vivisections. When they got out of there, after nine hours and a ridiculous amount of Bruce's money, they had ten suits and twenty ties of various colors, cuts, and fabrics ready to be shipped to Clark's new apartment in Metropolis and a nice ready-made suit of a rich gray color that Clark was to wear as the tailor insisted on burning the old one. Thankfully, Alfred had thought to bring a suitcase for his other Suit and so far the world wasn't in severe danger.

That took up all the first day but Alfred, to Clark's growing horror, was as nocturnal as his employer and just as dedicated to a task. Clark didn't go to bed until four in the morning that first day and until three the rest of them as Alfred had him read volumes of books about such things as golf, wine selection, water polo, chess, cocktail origins, and etiquette books. The older man then woke him up at five every morning and had him run drills changing from Clark to Superman in his two thousand dollar off-the-rack suit with the Suit in a separate briefcase and without destroying a button or popping a seam. He then had to endure personal questions about his grooming habits and their differences between his and that of a normal man's. He had to show Alfred how he shaved himself with his X-ray vision and mirrors and told him that his mother usually cut his hair with kryptonite-laced scissors every two months which he had to fly to Smallville to get. He then had to endure a lesson in aftershave and simulated fine-shaving and had to wear a lead bib as the manservant brought in an expert stylist to "get rid of…that", resulting in shorter hair with more product than he had ever had to use in his life. He then had to run drills changing from Clark to Superman with transitioning the new hair style. He was starting to get sick of the drills as they involved a high-pitched whistle and a look of annoyance if so much as a button became skewed.

He thought that'd be the worst of it, but no; it got worse. Alfred seemed to enjoy having someone to torture during the day and he took Clark around like a trainable show dog to the tearooms and country clubs of Gotham and even Metropolis as "Mr. Kirby, a wealthy farmer from Canada". Upon realizing his true reading speed Alfred had him read at least ten more books a day and tested him of what he learned therein. Under the bemused eye of Bruce (when he was there) Alfred scolded the Man of Steel's countrified dining etiquette and devised a system of mild shocks that annoyed more than hurt if Clark so much as reached for the wrong spoon. Then he had Clark's body heat tested using the supercomputer in the Bat-cave so that he may understand how scents could cling to him and devised a cologne laced with a touch of kryptonite to make him slightly vulnerable and smell great in spite of his body's tendency to expel foreign odors. He then had Clark fly him around the world and made him spend hours at a time in some of the wealthiest places around the world "to justify the lies" and bribe people to say he'd frequented some places before. He was then taken shopping around the ritziest clothing stores in London and France for outfits that could feed twenty families in South-East Asia and just when Clark thought he was done he had to fly Alfred back to Gotham wherein he bought more outfits and shoes so that he could have a "suitable blend of European and American flavors". He then had Clark do drills of switching out of his casual "Mr. Kirby" clothes and Superman. By the end of the second week the difference between his old transition and the new one was a fraction of a second and without a button out of place. He felt ready.

Still, after getting Clark enough clothes to stuff three closets, Alfred worked on other things that just irked Clark and brought on his thoughts of how the world saw Superman intellectually. Alfred certainly thought he was a social idiot as he had to work on his diction, "Kirby"-posture, and eloquent gestures. It certainly felt like the man didn't want to consider the fact that just _maybe_ Clark had some training at home and possibly took a few business etiquette seminars in college. Maybe if he allowed Superman to hold serious conversations with the press he wouldn't have been tortured for nearly two weeks and have only been clothes shopping. Still he must be getting somewhere; the first few days he barely had time to let his mind wander and now he was able to be left alone for a few hours. That was why Clark Kent was laid up by Bruce's sumptuous pool contemplating the nature of hell and listening to tapes guaranteed to dull that "heinous" mid-western accent of his. At some point Clark felt something block the sun's rays. "You certainly look idle," he heard Bruce say.

Clark looked up and squinted at the billionaire who was smirking over him. The man certainly was right about how busy he was and had only been around to smirk at him at dinner and teach him how to fence. "I damned well better," Clark sighed.

"Are your eyes…green?"

"Hunter green actually,"

"How…"

"Contact lenses," Clark sighed as he turned the recording off. "Alfred felt that my brand of glasses wouldn't do for 'Jonathan Alastair Kirby IV' but as my unblocked face would still give me away contacts would do the trick while lighter frames are made. He bought at least a hundred pairs in case I have to use my X-ray vision in them."

"So you've gone with Jonathan Kirby?"

"Yes, sounds wealthy enough, doesn't it? I called Perry and he thought that was a good idea,"

"When do you have to report to the Planet?"

"I'm meeting them for lunch on Monday before we go off,"

"We?"

Clark scowled, thinking of the tentative phone call he had with Perry. "Lois is coming along anyway," he sighed. "She's going to be playing my wife, making sure I don't mess up."

"Bet you can't wait to get this over with,"

Clark gave Bruce a withering look. "I had to read an entire book on the Russian ballet this morning so that I can be quizzed on current dancers as well as learn the history of _gin_," he groaned. "I am wearing a swimsuit that cost more than the last pair of shoes I bought and am wearing this special lotion laced with _poison_ so that I can actually tan in the sunlight and _bleed_. And don't even get me started on the lead-based scrub I have to use to get it off. I don't have my Suit on because that'd just raise suspicions so I have a briefcase that cost more than two months rent to hide it. I have been poked, I have been prodded, I have been _groped_ (and I really do believe your tailor is a sexual predator), and I've been insulted. I had to fly your butler around the world to eat cheese and sushi, and do you know how much he squirms over the Atlantic? And I'm listening to tapes so that I won't sound 'socially untrained'. Sergei Alexander better be the devil incarnate because this is hell, Bruce. I have placed myself in hell and the devil wants me to have a British-like accent."

Bruce snorted and handed Clark a folder. "Oh come on," he laughed as Clark gave him his most petulant look. "I've done some research of Sergei Alexander and I probably went deeper than Lois is in Metropolis. Take a break and read that."

He sighed and sped through the folder. His eyebrows rose a few times and he handed the folder back to Bruce. "Are you certain that the birth certificate is a fake?" he asked.

"There is a very wealthy Alexander family in the Balkans, but they died out forty years ago. Whoever this Sergei is he's definitely a fake,"

"At least there's that. If this isn't Luthor it's someone else just as craft…"

"Master Kirby," a British voice trilled. Clark and Bruce exchanged looks as a walkie-talkie vibrated from a pool-side table. "I made reservations at Franklin's Manor at four for high tea and a quick game of cricket with Jon Ashby and Brent Thompson, who shall be attending the function. Do come in the house and dress appropriately."

Clark groaned and Bruce laughed outright. "Man, that sucks," the billionaire smirked

"Shut it,"

There was a small cough from the walkie-talkie. "Master Wayne you've been invited as well," Alfred continued. Clark barely contained his laughter as Bruce paled. "I've laid out your cricket attire. I do suggest you have Master Kirby speed your way to the main house, sir."

Clark gave Bruce a triumphant look. "At least I'm not in hell alone," he teased.

"Yes, well, at least this hell has dainty sandwiches,"


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: Hello, thank you so much for the reviews! I know, this should be the reveal of the suave Jonathan Kirby to Lois and all, but somehow I think it should be done in a different way. That IS coming next, though! All reviews will be welcomed.

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Visits and Ruminations

_ "That suit does wonders for you, Master Kent. And the rest of your suits are really quite beautiful and if we do something to your face we wouldn't have to bother with avoiding the navy blue one… "_

_ "I think that tailor was a little too close and personal,"_

_ "Have you ever been to a professional tailor, sir?"_

_ "Not really, no. Usually I just buy my suits off the rack. I still need to find a good suit place…"_

_ There was a repressed shudder. "A well-tailored suit gives off an air of respectability and projects unto the world the image of a stylish man who knows where best to place his money. Why, I remember taking a young Master Wayne to get fitted for his first suit. He had the same complaints you had, but nevertheless he took to the suit well," he sighed. "It is a shame that he had to wear that suit to his parents' funeral."_

_ "You are very fond of him,"_

_ There was a very warm, though slightly brief, smile before it slipped away behind a mask of cool professionalism. In a way it reminded Clark of the masks he had to perfect as Superman and Clark Kent, the masks he was beginning to be sick of wearing when with Lois or Jason. "As well one should be towards those you help raise, sir," the butler said softly._

It was all Lois could do not to scream at her computer.

All week she had been looking for information related to Sergei Alexander, the doctor, and all the other rich men and women who would be attending the month-long retreat. This was complete bullshit; interns should be focusing on this stuff while she bided her time with a good story. It also did nothing to help that Sergei Alexander was one of the few unsearchable men in the world when it came to his background. She had also been doing her damndest to help Clark before he waltzed off to God knows where to sulk. She was just glad to have worn down Perry enough to have her tag along as Clark's wife; though only on the stipulation that she kept to her role as support and didn't "step on Clark's toes" as Perry said. All she needed to do was find her wig guy Antonio and find a convincing enough wig for a rich woman and pull out some of her snazzier suits. Richard tossed her a few suggestions from his experiences as an international reporter, but as the daughter of a general she knew how to behave in prim settings; she just didn't like it. She just wished Clark stuck around for the past two weeks so that she could help him get an overhaul, but not he claimed that he had help and left her alone to do research of all things! Who would've thought that Smallville had such a fragile ego?

Still, now she was looking up shit to flesh out their personas. Clark had called the office that Monday to let them know that he was going by the name of Jonathan Kirby III, a wealthy farmer from Canada. That could work; Clark certainly knew about farms and not too many nouveau-riche Americans were schooled on their millionaires to the North. She made folders with common information they needed to know about the province Clark picked, the kind of things that grew there, and what rich people they should know. She then fleshed out her own character, naming her Lucinda after her sister, and tried to make sure she had the schools and stores just right. Clark didn't give her much information about Jonathan, but just in case she made a folder for him. The only reason why felt like screaming, beyond the indignity of it all, was that this was so very boring and hideously time consuming.

She checked the time on her laptop. It was well past midnight and she was going to meet Clark, Perry, and Jimmy for breakfast at a French place on Madison Avenue to resolve their time apart. She should go to bed so that she could be fresh-eyed and sociable. With a yawn she closed her laptop, checked all the lights and alarms, and trudged up her stairs. As she walked down the hall she could swear she heard noise in Jason's room. He should've gone to sleep hours ago; what was he doing up?

She cracked the door open and found Superman standing, no floating, by the window looking down on her very-much asleep son. She watched as he gazed at her son, their son, with a look on his face that she couldn't well recognize in the dark. When he looked out of the window for a second his face was bathed in the moonlight, making the exquisite hollows in his face seem more profound and romantic. There was water glistening on his skin and Lois wondered if he flew into a cloud or performed a save involving water. He looked towards the door and they made eye contact. With her hand she gestured going outside, to which he nodded and floated towards the window.

Her hands were shaking as she made her way downstairs and turned on the porch light. Over the past month he had been coming to see Jason and very rarely did they talk. At first it was disturbing to have HIM in her house, but after a few weeks she came to accept him and from talking to Jason he didn't even know he was there half the time and didn't know the real reason why. Superman was at her porch with that eternally patient look on his face she fell in love with but was weary of seeing. He was definitely wet, that is to say damp, as his suit seemed to cling to every definable inch of his body and his cape sagged against his back. He was still floating slightly and she finally noticed that at least the lower half of his body was covered in mud. Vaguely, she worried about Jason's rugs. "Rough night," Lois asked.

"A small dam broke in Kenya," he said. "Most of the mud is drying, but it's nothing cracking the sound barrier wouldn't help."

"Will have to remember that when I spill soy sauce on my silks,"

He chuckled softly. "Did I disturb you?" he asked.

Lois forced herself to look away from a drop of water that escaped from his black hair and ran its course down his cheek. "No," she said. "Just making sure that Jason wasn't up; it is late."

"Of course,"

"Not that you can't visit him, but…"

He nodded and Lois noticed the flash of pain in his eyes. It was gone in an instant and was replaced with the same expression he normally had when saving wayward cats from trees. Considering who he was sitting with he must be struggling to stay neutral. "I understand, Lois," he whispered.

Lois sighed. She could see how much he loved that child and she more or less told him to leave him alone. She wouldn't even think of trading places with him. "This is extraordinarily awkward," she breathed.

"Could be worse, I suppose,"

"What could be worse than finding out that your asthmatic son can bench-press a piano when your fiancé nearly slips a disk pushing one into the living room?"

"Finding out that you had a son after you've been gone for five years on a wild goose chase,"

"If I wasn't so angry about that I would agree,"

The Man of Steel gave a world-weary sigh punctuated by a clump of mud falling off his cape and landing on the porch. "He is a beautiful boy," he whispered. "Looks just like you."

"Oh don't be delusional," Lois snapped. "That little boy may have my hair color but the rest is all you. I can't believe it took me five years to notice…"

"Lois…"

"The eyes alone," she laughed. "I mean, Richard has blue eyes, but those eyes have flecks of gray and green in them; they're quite nice. But Jason's eyes, your eyes…it's like there's no room for any other color…"

"Yes, well…"

"Do you know how many times I just stared at him when he was a baby? It was like for the first year I couldn't believe that something so small and helpless could have been a by-product of anything I've done. Why didn't I notice?"

"Last I checked I'm not a child, and it'd be kind of hard to play a very accurate matching game with a baby when all you have are pictures and merchandising,"

Lois raised her eyebrow at that. For one thing it wasn't like she had any clue how old the hero dripping Kenyan mud on her porch was. For another that comment was so deadpan and not at all like the Superman she knew and interviewed; normally his humor had a bit of majestic pomp to it that with anyone else it'd be condescending. "This is true, but how old are you?"

"I honestly don't know anymore. The five years in space messed my system up. How is he?"

"Jason, Jason is fine. Or, he is as fine as he's going to tell me. I can't believe the doctors haven't noticed anything different about him compared to other children!"

"It could be something to be aware of as he gets older, do you have a doctor you can trust?"

"Dr. Miller's rather trustworthy, will have to do deeper research on her in case Jason suddenly can't get shots anymore."

"Does Jason know…"

"No, but after this assignment I will have to sit down and have a nice long chat with him…and Richard. Shit, what am I supposed to say to Richard? 'Hello, darling, the boy you have been raising with me isn't yours. Sorry'?"

The hero sighed. "And what should I do when Jason manifests more powers?" she asked.

"I'm always around,"

"So you say,"

"There is nothing out there that can keep me away as long as I was before,"

Their eyes met and Lois looked away. "I want you to do me a small favor," she said.

From her peripheral vision she saw Superman nod slightly. "I am leaving for an assignment and I am not sure how long I'm going to be on it except I can't bring Jason along," she said.

"An assignment,"

"Clark and I are going to make we're a rich couple and investigate a new rich guy named Sergei Alexander and his dealings with a notorious kryptonite researcher. It shouldn't be a very long assignment but it will be the first time I'm to leave Jason alone with Richard since the yacht. I need you to be available in case Jason lifts a car or burns the house down while I'm gone."

For a moment a few emotions seemed to cross Superman's face before his face settled back into neutrality. She wanted to shake him to make his face express anything else that wasn't polite. "Of course," he murmured. "I will keep an ear out for anything unusual."

The estranged couple sat there for a moment. Lois mourned for the era before Superman left her with a child. There were times in which they couldn't stop talking, if just to make their evening interviews longer. He would laugh more, they'd flirt shamelessly, and very rarely did she get that neutral "just here to help, ma'am" face. The silence that now stretched between them was by no means comfortable, but to Lois it could have always been worse; at least this silence involved Superman in front of her instead of far off into space somewhere. She was about to ask him a question about that time away, just to keep him there for another minute, when his head snapped up and his expression was robbed of all emotion as his eyes drifted far from where he was sitting. During interviews she used to positively loathe that look, though for some reason she was highly familiar with it. "I need to go," he said.

She sighed as he stood up, looking majestic in spite of the damp suit and mud. "Of course," she whispered.

"I could come back…"

"No, it's alright. Goodnight, Superman,"

"Lois," he returned with a slight smile.

She watched as he took off into the air, leaving her with a flashy sonic boom. She sure picked a shitty time to stop smoking. So she had to content herself with chewing the crap out of her thumbnail as she reentered her house to go to bed. She checked on Jason one more time to find him still asleep and then went to her bedroom. Richard was knocked out, a half-empty glass of water and a bottle of pain pills writing the story for him. They decided to get Jason a real piano and it had finally arrived. One of the men moving it in had to leave for his pregnant wife and Richard volunteered to help move it. Luckily it wasn't as bad as it could've been and the pills he got kept him asleep for the most part. She clucked her tongue and began her evening rituals which ended in her snuggled close against her fiancé.

As is wont for anyone trying to sleep her mind began to wander. Usually it went towards a story, but since most of what she was doing was research she didn't have a need to dwell on it. For a moment her mind drifted to Jason in a few years looking just like his father in a red, blue, and yellow suit. Her mind didn't want to dwell in a future with her little boy neglecting family and a normal life to save the world; she wanted to think of her little boy saving the world without putting his life in danger. Instead, her mind became fixated by Superman all wet and muddy from a save, his thick hair all tousled and plastered to his head and his suit clinging to every single…

Richard snored a little and shifted slightly. Lois almost jumped out of her skin. She was going to have a dirty thought about another man while her future husband was sleeping off an injury caused to please their son! Why did that damned man have to come see her when he was all wet and dirty? Didn't he know how much that suit clung to him when he was _dry_? She propped herself up by an elbow and gazed down at her sleeping fiancé. He always looked like a little boy when he was asleep; that was what convinced her to say yes to marriage. In sleep he seemed vulnerable and safe and human and not at all like Superman. It would be so much easier if he snored heavily, or smoke cigars and slapped other women's asses, or wasn't a devoted dad to Jason. But he was none of those things; he was a decent man who adored her.

She rolled over on her back and in her mind's eye she put both men side by side. To be completely fair to the both of them she made Superman dry and neutral-looking and put Richard in those swim trunks he wore the summer Jason turned two with a gorgeous smile. They were both dazzlingly sexy men who swept her off her feet, though Superman more or less did so literally and Richard only did so after her walk of shame into the office. They were both dedicated to their work, almost too much so which was fine with her. While she didn't remember much about having sex with Superman she was quite sure he wasn't a slouch in the sack and there was a turned-over cushion on the couch downstairs that was a testament to Richard's skills. And both of them loved her and Jason more than anything in the world and that love she could see naked in their eyes, though she saw that more with Richard in public whereas Superman's mask stayed in place for the rest of the world.

It should be easy to focus all of her ardor on Richard alone and relegate her feelings for Superman as an old flame snuffed out. After all, the hero was gone for five years and she and Richard had those five years to love and know each other. She knew Perry and his wife were the ones who raised him after his mother died when he was a teenager. She knew where he went for his undergrad and that he traveled through Europe and spent two years in Japan. She knew that his favorite food in the world was dim sum from a little-frequented Asian fusion restaurant and that he was allergic to pet dander and avocados. She knew that he hated romantic comedies and Woody Allen films with a passion. She even knew that he had a girlfriend named Soledad Vargas that he wanted to marry seven years ago but didn't because her mother was putting the moves on him and Soledad didn't believe him. She could never say she knew Superman as well. Hell, she didn't even know how old he truly was and she was planning Richard's thirty-sixth birthday party in a month.

Yet…this was Superman. Lois never had many crushes and she knew that what she had felt could not be akin to any crush a woman could have for a random person. And try as she might to be angry at him for leaving those feelings were still there and had yet to disappear. Though she didn't really know him, though she had no idea what his favorite anything was, she loved him. She loved him and even with Richard in her heart Superman went much deeper. She used to not believe in soul mates, thought that was a stupid device used to elevate the careers of starlets and romance novelists, but it was as good a word as any to describe the connection she had with the alien. With Richard…

Richard moaned and sat up slightly, causing Lois to jump. "Honey, what's wrong?" she whispered.

"What time is it?" he groaned.

Lois looked at the clock and received a small shock. "It's two-thirty," she whispered.

"Two-thirty, what are you doing up?"

Lois frowned. It was after midnight when she left the laptop. She didn't think of how long the silences between her and Superman stretched, and she didn't count on how long it'd take to think of another man in a wet skintight suit while her fiancé was waking up in pain. Instead of laying all that out for him she sighed. "Got caught up in work," she said. "Can't believe Clark skipped out to prepare somewhere and didn't have the balls to tell me where so that we can get our shit coordinated."

"Apologize…"

"Me? Apologize? For doing what, making sure that we can get a good story? No, he needs to apologize to me."

Richard moved a vague arm in her direction. "Where's the pain medicine?"

Lois heaved a sigh, got out of the spot she must have been making warm for an hour, and went around to Richard. She propped him up and handed him his pills and water. He gave her a drug-laced smile as he took his dose of pills. "You're an angel," he said.

Though he was high as a kite, that sentiment twisted Lois's guts. She gave the fakest smile she had ever had to give him and pulled the sheets over him. As she moved towards her side of the bed she considered her options. Stop loving Superman, stay devoted and marry Richard like she planned, and live a life filled with security and warmth. Give Richard the heave-ho and run to Superman only to be rejected and left alone or swept into a world where she and her son would be a tantalizing hostage some Luthor wannabe. Maybe she should say to hell with both of them and devote all of her familial affections towards men to Jason and relegate her other needs to hired help and whatever is in some racy catalog. Her options sucked and they sucked so much that it rendered Lois paralyzed, and she hated to feel paralyzed. She closed her eyes and snuggled into Richard. Hopefully this will be a good assignment, and maybe trying to make sure Clark didn't goof up would give her the time she needed to make what decisions she had to make. With that foolish hope in the forefront and Richard's drug-addled body providing her extra warmth she went to sleep.


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: Sorry it took so long to update! Thank you **aforgottenwish **for the read-through!Please, any reviews would be well appreciated.

I own my shoes, not the DC universe.

* * *

_"Now, Master Kirby, when you enter a room you must own every aspect of it. The air in there is yours to savor, the ground you walk on was created just for you, the people there just to look at you and be in awe of your largess…"_

_ A sigh._

_ "Do stop that, sir. You are used to the glory of being Superman, yes?"_

_ "You think I come in preening?"_

_"No, sir, but after watching a few rescues you've come into it seems like Superman oozes…superiority,"_

_"Batman's butler would say that…" the superhero muttered._

_"Well, Master Kirby's comings and goings should be quite similar. How do you think you walk in that Suit? Show me,"_

_ A stifled sigh and a walk._

_ "Now that is a very regal walk, but we need to make it a bit unrecognizable. What you need to do is blend that air of regal alien confidence into how a normal man walks. Use the muscles in your stomach to pull up your carriage a bit more, broaden out your shoulders (but not so much that you look like the savior of the world), and elongate the neck."_

_ "It still feels like what I normally do,"_

_ "Hmm…thrust out your chin more. And really, sir, try smiling a little?"_

_ He smiled. "A bit less smiling with the teeth, sir," Alfred said. "This is a smile that shouldn't meet your eyes and should tell the room that you have arrived and are better suited to the task of existing,"_

_ "Sounds a touch conceited,"_

_ "Just practice it, Master Kirby. Soon you will be a natural at it."_

--

Perry hated people being late, especially when they were late during the lunch hour. Hell, to be late during a working lunch hour was a capital offense. Still, at least Clark had the decency to call and say he'd be late; Lois had no real excuse. He was stuck there in one of the busiest and fanciest French restaurants he had ever been in with Jimmy Olsen sticking out like a sore thumb in a bow tie and short-sleeved shirt. Their waiter came by at least five time already and on the sixth go 'round he just rolled his eyes and trotted off in a huff unsuited for a man his age. He was just about to give up and simply allow Jimmy to order when Lois came in drenched from the rain. "I'm sorry, Perry," she said as a maitre d' hurried to take her coat. "Traffic has been insane; this weather doesn't seem to be letting up."

"It's alright," Perry sighed. "Clark called; he got delayed in traffic too."

"Fantastic,"

Their waiter came, looked down his nose at the drowned rat that resembled Lois Lane, and presented her with a menu. "Why the fancy feast, chief?" she asked, scowling after the waiter.

"Officially we're here to give a rich man clout by deigning to dine with him in a ritzy place where at least five men we know are going are sitting in the back corner trying to impress the waitress with their checkbooks," Perry said with a slight tilt to the head towards the aforementioned table. "Unofficially Clark said this place had the best entrecote Béarnaise this side of Toulouse and, damn the doctor, I'm going to try it."

"Clark's been to Toulouse?" Lois said.

"Clark's been everywhere," Jimmy said excitedly. "You should hear his stories about llamas…"

Lois rolled her eyes slightly in regards to the llamas and browsed the menu. "I sure hope Clark can pull this off," she said.

"He sounds pretty confident over the phone," Perry said. "Give the man a chance to impress you."

Lois shook her head slightly. Perry could never understand her attitude towards the Midwestern reporter. Sometimes she treated him like a brat she was forced to babysit. Other times she treated him like a little brother she had to protect. Rare were the times when she treated her fellow reporter like an adult and from what Perry observed when she did that she treated him like his wife treated her overweight sister: as a good person to talk to but completely unthreatening. Clark must have been born to angels for putting up with her.

He shook his head and started to let his eyes roam around the restaurant. There were a lot of people there, mostly rich young yuppies who only got dirty playing golf or polo and pampered women with little else to do but lunch at this hour. There was one sexy slightly older number getting seen to by the maitre d' and she was standing there with a younger and ridiculously tall handsome man. They must be here for a date or a secret rendezvous; it always amazed Perry how even he could allow his brain to go tabloid. What a damnable time to be alive and reporting the news. It took Perry a second to recognize the woman. "That's Evangeline Sinclair," he announced.

Lois and Jimmy turned their heads to the door and watched as the dazzlingly sensual woman talked to the tall man. "No way, the Black Widow of Metropolis?" Jimmy whispered.

"In the slutty flesh," Lois snorted.

"That woman has buried more husbands than a mortician the same age," Perry said. "See an article from Bernard about her pass my desk every other day."

"Who's she married to now?" Jimmy asked, amusing Perry as he drooled a little while the woman tossed her head back with a carrying laugh.

"A Stanford Lewis," Lois said.

Jimmy and Perry looked at her strangely. "He's an old fishing magnet who is going on this retreat," she supplied. "I have better things to do than be fascinated with which husband she's on."

"Who's the guy she's with?" Jimmy asked, ignoring Lois's distain. "Is he going on the retreat too?"

Lois stared at the man as he took Evangeline's hand and kissed it eloquently. He then leaned into her ear and said something that had to be a dismal for the woman's body seemed to sag for a second before she perked up again. They watched as Evangeline pouted and sauntered off to a table occupied by another well-dressed woman who immediately seemed to grab her in gossip. It seemed that more eyes were on the man who she was talking to a minute ago. He sort of reminded Perry of a movie star he was forced to stare at for two hours while his wife cried about something or another.

"I don't know," Lois shrugged. "He's probably a playboy for the rich or something. I heard that they work places like this to get little old ladies to sign over their children's trust funds."

"Whoever he is he's coming this way and we certainly don't have any little old ladies," Jimmy said.

Perry watched as the man walked towards their table. He seemed to draw every single eye towards him as he weaved his way through the tables and patrons. He was dressed in a very well cut suit of dark charcoal with a light gray shirt and tasteful tie. He was well-tanned, as though he spent his days lounging by a pool and all and all he was the kind of guy Perry used to envy before he became more comfortable in his skin.

The man arrived at their table and looked at all of them with an appraising eye, pausing at Lois's wet form for a minute. Perry had to marvel as his tough future niece-in-law blushed like a school girl as the man smiled. He turned to face Perry again and was met with two green eyes of a stern nature. "Perry," the man said as he extended his hand. His voice was so smooth and commandingly deep that Perry had no choice but to accept his warm firm handshake. "I'm sorry I'm late, but traffic was horrific."

"Sorry," Perry frowned.

The man raised an eyebrow and looked to Lois and Jimmy, who just shrugged. "It's me, Chief," he said.

"Me who," Jimmy laughed.

"Clark,"

Lois laughed. "No," she said. "You are not Clark Kent."

"Yes I am, and you're Lois Lane, and that's James Olsen and in front of me's Perry White and I am late meeting the three of you," he smiled.

Lois gave Perry an incredulous look but Perry suddenly noticed how the man's nose looked the same. He stared at it for a while and soon everything else came together. "Great Caesar's ghost," he breathed. "Clark?"

Clark laughed. The laugh didn't sound anything like Clark's nervous chuckle. "Wow, Clark," Jimmy breathed. "What did you do to yourself?"

"A guy puts on a different pair of glasses and suddenly he's unrecognizable..."

"That's not it," Perry said. He attempted not to inappropriately prod one of his reporters to ascertain validity and instead cataloged what he could visually. He really could not fathom this man as the reporter he hired from Smallville. For a second the little boy in him that enjoyed serials and comics thought of some pod people movies. Out of the corners of his eyes he noticed many a patron's head have turned to their table, several of which were crowded by high society ladies. "You look…taller…"

"I think it's the shoes," Clark smiled.

"Where have you been all this time?"

"I had a friend who was most helpful,"

Jimmy smiled. "Well you look good, Clark," the younger man enthused, extending his hand for Clark who shook it firmly.

"Good, you look like you stepped out of a magazine," Perry said. "Why haven't we seen this before?"

He shrugged. "I did not have the budget then," he said simply. "Speaking of which, I have my receipts in order for Accounting and will be faxing them from another location every week. I would rather not be audited."

"Your voice is off," Jimmy frowned. "Have you gotten voice lessons?"

There was another laugh, this one sounding very much unlike anything Perry ever heard from Clark. For some reason unknown to Perry it was almost scary and he didn't like it one bit. "Oh, those were fun," he sighed once he controlled himself. "But really, we should order…"

Their waiter appeared out of thin air and rattled off the specials in a nasally French accent obviously hiked up for the poorer-looking people sitting at the table. When Clark asked him a very fluid question in a highly musical French of his own the waiter blinked and dropped the accent, asking them what they wanted in a Bostonian accent. Perry was stunned that Clark knew French. He really needed to go back and look at his resume; if the man knew a lick of Chinese he'd have him shipped over to International faster than Superman could stop a bullet. Clark looked at him curiously after he finished with his question, making him realize how much he had been staring. Shaking himself slightly, he went back to the menu.

Perry and Clark got their steaks and Jimmy had a time pronouncing his chicken dish. It was when it was Lois's turn that the three of them noticed that she hadn't said a word since Clark settled down. The trio looked to Lois who had been gaping at Clark without saying a word. This was extremely rare; he knew Lois as the type of woman who would work a strange situation to her favor in less than five minutes. Hell, even with her swooning over Superman in the beginning she still composed herself more than Superman's adoring audience and turned in cognizant and objective articles about him. If Perry had not been gaping himself he would have felt sorry for his nephew. Tentatively, Jimmy waved his hand in front of Lois's face, causing her to snap out of it. "Sorry?" Lois frowned.

"It's time to order," Clark said.

For the second time, Lois blushed and quickly ordered a salad. Once the waiter left Clark smiled again at all of them, this time the smile reached his eyes and looked more like the Clark they knew. "We should get down to business before the food comes," he said.

"Of course," Perry said as Jimmy scrambled through his messenger bag. Jimmy handed Clark a file, which Clark immediately thumbed through, and a PDA. "We will have a limo pick you at eight tomorrow. Your flight is at ten-thirty and a car will pick you up at the airport upon your arrival and take you to Sandy Shore. There is an itinerary included; Mr. Alexander has allotted time to speak on the fourth day of the second week. If we can get the story by then I know some people in Accounting who'd be happy."

"Excellent, we can start by getting to know him and the people he would be more likely to associate with in this outing," Clark said. "I see that there's a polo game the day before his presentation. I think Lois should be able to handle sneaking into his rooms to provide us a decent heads-up…"

"What?"

Perry and Jimmy turned to find Lois having finally snapped out of her stupor to stare at Clark with a new expression: annoyance. Uh oh… Out of the corner of his eye Perry saw Jimmy flinch visibly as Lois narrowed her eyes. Clark was ignoring the warning in Jimmy's and Perry's eyes with a smile towards Lois. "Yes," he said. "You can sneak into his rooms and look for information."

"And what will you do?"

Clark gave Perry an incredulous look that threw Perry off completely before turning back to Lois. "I will be playing polo, Lois," he said with all the patience of a kindergarten teacher. "According to what I have found out about Mr. Alexander he has an affinity for polo; it would be a good opportunity to make sure he is distracted. He has been known to be a paranoid person, so the three guards he typically uses would be at the field while he's playing. And you are not a stranger to sneaking around in a possibly dangerous situation so I believe it will work out well."

Lois seemed to want to argue but didn't. Maybe it was the tone in his voice; polite but dismissive all at once. Maybe it was the fact that Jimmy was watching and thus she felt restrained from exploding. Or, it could have been the tidbit about the story: "How did you find information on Sergei when all I got from my research was basic fluff?" she asked tightly.

"I have my sources."

"You could have shared."

"I could have, and I am."

He bent sideways to his suitcase and retrieved three folders, which he handed out as their food came. Perry was as impressed with the folder's thoroughness as he was with the tenderness of his steak. "Clark, when did you come here, this is excellent," he asked.

"I came yesterday; their wine list is truly superb,"

"How did you come yesterday?" Lois scowled. "And why didn't you check in with me, we could've coordinated…"

Clark frowned slightly. Perry could definitely mark this as the first time he saw Clark annoyed with Lois; normally he seemed to be either awed by her audacity or struck dumb with affection. In the corner of his eye he could see Jimmy almost vibrating with some sort of glee; Lois had been damn near impossible during the two weeks Clark was out of the office and all of that ire went towards Jimmy. Perry perused the folder a bit more, impressed with how much detail there was about Sergei Alexander. "So the birth certificate's definitely a fake?" he asked.

"Yes, sir," Clark said. In the background Lois bristled over her question being glossed over. "Unfortunately, that's as far as my source was able to delve; we have no real idea who he was before he became Sergei Alexander. This certainly smells of Lex Luthor, but considering the amount of megalomaniacs, terrorist organizations, and whack jobs out there that could have an interest in kryptonite we can't just make any assumptions."

Perry nodded with a touch of pride. He loved being surprised and Clark certainly was doing that in the thirty minutes he had been there. Lois was still vibrating in attack mode so diffusion of the situation was warranted. He gestured to Jimmy, who almost shook his head frantically as Lois's eyes went to the younger man. "Jimmy will be your eyes here," he announced. "When neither you nor Lois can get in contact with me you talk to him and he will research what you can't on the ground. The PDA would be the best method to contact him."

Clark smiled. This smile was completely familiar with his editor-in-chief and he had almost missed it. "Great," he said. "Now, Lois, you made some profiles concerning your persona and the attendees?"

Lois narrowed her eyes back towards Clark and dug through her own bag. She handed out thick folders to the three of them. "Great," he said again. "Thanks."

Perry and Jimmy read through her folder before, Perry noting the boredom and annoyance within his star reporter's notes on the rich attendees. Even her profile lacked the Mad Dog flourish in style if not in content. There was a moment of silence as the four of them enjoyed their meals. Around him he noticed Lois was frowning at her salad as though it wronged her, Jimmy was shoving in his food, and Clark was eating at a fairly normal clip while he read the folder. After a while he looked up with a raised eyebrow. "This will work," he said.

"Why do you sound so skeptical?" Lois snapped.

"Well, it's nice and all but I couldn't help but noticed that you added some notes in here for me."

"And…"

"It's interesting, but I'm fine with what I've worked out. I emailed you the details."

"Email, what email?"

"I sent you an email earlier this week."

"I didn't get it."

"You should check your emails more often, Lois. Otherwise you're going to lose out."

The two reporters glared at each other. Jimmy snorted into his water, the sound not going unnoticed by his boss but effective in snapping Clark out of it. Instead, he chuckled as well and leaned back in his chair. That sort of thing would've caused the Clark Kent that Perry knew to topple over. This man in front of them merely shrugged and gave Lois a look full of confidence. "I'm sure we can work on a decent merger of how we think I should act," he said charmingly.

From Clark Kent that was pretty rude, though honestly it was also sort of deserved. Perry looked at Lois carefully. She seemed ready to explode. Tactfully, Perry looked down and realized that it was time to head into the office. Well, he was the boss so really any time was time to go back into the office. Either way, Lois had not eaten all of her salad and she looked like she was willing to throw it at someone. "Well, we should get going," Perry said.

Jimmy looked like he wanted to protest, but Perry gave Jimmy his sternest look. "You have my cell?" the young man asked as Perry settled the bill with the hovering waiter.

"Certainly."

The men stood up. Clark shook their hands, pleasing Perry yet again with his strong grip. "I'll give you a report upon our arrival," he said to Perry as he shook Jimmy's hand.

"Can't wait," Perry said.

He and Jimmy looked at Lois, who was staring straight at where Clark had been sitting. Perry decided that it was time to snap her to attention and get her moving. "Lois, didn't Richard want to meet you after lunch to talk about Jason," he asked.

Lois blinked and stood up, almost upsetting the table as she went. "Um, yes, of course," she laughed, though the laughter did not reach her eyes. She looked at Clark with slightly narrowed eyes and nodded to Clark. Obviously thinking better of it, she extended her hand. "See you tomorrow then?"

Clark took the hand and kissed it, the move so suave that Perry almost went back to the pod person theory. "Of course," he said as though he kissed women's hands every day.

If it weren't slightly embarrassing and if Jimmy wasn't there for Perry to mentor the older man would've laughed as his star reporter turned beet red, mumbled something like "looking forward to it", and tripped on the bag she came in with, kicking off a shoe in the process. Clark, who should have been used to such klutzy behavior on his part, steadied Lois by her elbow and helped her put her heel back on. Lois blushed some more, recovered, and almost ran out of the restaurant, muttering something about Richard. Perry looked at Clark to find an expression on his face that was entirely strange and yet familiar somehow; the man seemed triumphant. Clark caught Perry looking at him and flashed him a smile with too many teeth. "Chief," he said cordially. "Jimmy, I certainly hope we get a resolution quickly. Now, if you will excuse me there are some things I must attend to before my departure…"

"Of course," Perry said.

Clark smiled again and left the restaurant as well, many an eye following his departure. Jimmy turned to Perry with an amused but puzzled look on his face. "What was that?" he asked, having also noticed the triumphant look on his friend's face.

"I don't know," Perry said, straightening his coat, "but this should be a hell of a month."


End file.
